Hutt Earth
Prologue They came from another galaxy. Only a few ships at first, but their numbers quickly grew. The Hutts quickly dominated our planet. It all started when a seemingly extraterrestrial spaceship was detected in close proximity to Mars. A large, hulking craft, it was clearly not of human design. Once news got out, panic spread rapidly. As the vessel drew near, governments joined together in an effort to prepare for alien assault. This proved to be futile. As the Huttese ship drew parallel to our moon, reinforcements arrived. It was then that we realized that there was no hope for victory. Days after the first ship sighting, a message was broadcast worldwide, ordering our surrender. Failure to comply would only bring us further hardship, the protocol droid-delivered message declared. Of course, we wouldn't give up with out a fight. Landing craft dropped by the hundreds into our atmosphere. The alien craft quickly decimated any resistance with their far superior weaponry. 120 hours and 1.5 billion casualties later, world leaders declared Earth's total surrender. The Hutts then issued forth more vehicles. Earth citizens were to report to designated areas, to be dealt with accordingly. We were nothing more to them than materials, property. While the entirety of Earth's surviving human population gathered at these sites, the Hutts harvested our world's resources, taking our crops and fuel. The once lush land was reduced to desolate plains. The world became a bleak and barren marsh, reminiscent of the Hutt homeworld of Nal Hutta. They terraformed our planet to their own preference. Ours was nothing more than another world to colonize. Humans were individually evaluated for our usefulness as slaves. Those deemed too weak to be beneficial, such as most of the elderly and sick, were executed. Some of us managed to buy our way out of servitude, with currency or information. The majority, however, were not so lucky. If we passed our examinations, we were sorted out based upon physical and mental traits. Strong males and some females were best suited for labor, and then employed in the creation of new Huttese edifices or shipped offworld. Children were taken offworld immediately, to who knows where. Abnormally intelligent individuals were taken, likely used as financial and trade advisors. Some males and females deemed 'imperfect' physically were used as breeding stock, producing future slaves. And young, attractive females (and sometimes males) were put to use as pleasure slaves, displaying and using our bodies sexually for the enjoyment and entertainment for our conquerors. I was one such woman. This is my story. Log 1: “Mills, Jennifer” My name is called in a precise, mechanized voice from the large overhead speaker. I cringe, and the woman next to me gives a reassuring pat on the shoulder. I don’t think she speaks English, but her message is clear. I shrug my shoulders, and get up with trepidation. Treading slowly, I make my way past rows upon rows of clustered men and women, heading for the large door. It’s time for my evaluation. At the door, I am halted, as previous victims have been, by a bug-eyed, reptilian alien with brown scales. Having witnessed the consequences of resistance, I stand still as he affixes a heavy metal collar around my neck. He directs me down the hall with a simple gesture. The room is bright from an overhead light. A ‘droid,’ as they seem to be called, stands at the head of the room. “Strip, please,” it orders. Eyes widening, I don’t comply. My collar then delivers a painful electric shock. “Strip, please,” the droid again demands monotonously. Cheeks reddening, I remove my jacket, shirt, and jeans. Only my undergarments remain, but I hope that’s acceptable. Another shock tells me that it isn’t. I slide off my bra and panties, doing my best to cover my intimate areas before the blank gaze of this robot. The droid asks,”Name?” “Jennifer Mills.” “Age?” “22.” “Height?” “5’5”” “Weight?” “115 pounds.” “Are you a virgin?” “No.” The droid’s eye lens clicks, and I sense that it has just photographed me. “Turn around,” it orders. I do so reluctantly, and hear the same click. “After evaluation, you have been deemed suitable as a pleasure slave. Please proceed to room 3C for further instructions.” I curse under my breath. That was what I wanted to hear the least, other than an execution order. I move to grab my clothes, only to be zapped. “Permission to at least wear my undergarments?” I ask. The droid pauses for a few moments, and then then declares,”Permission granted.” I hastily put them back on, and move back out into the cold hallway. I finally arrive at room 3C. Another reptilian guard stands at the entrance, wielding some sort of laser gun. He eyes me up, grinning, and scans some sort of barcode on my collar. I then hastily make my way past him, but not before he can slap my bottom on the way in. Cheeks burning, I stumble into a room filled with about fifty similarly scantily clad and nude young men and women, all looking miserable. I sit down in the corner, and begin to quietly weep. Log 2: I don’t recall falling asleep, but spent a fitful few hours with terrible dreams of the horrors that might await me. It seemed that I had been reduced to nothing more than a sex slave. My old life was over. We were awoken by a loud buzzer, shaken from our restless slumber. I had no idea of what time it was, as there were no windows in our prison. My bladder called for attention, and I realized I had to pee. Looking around, I saw a few men and women relieving themselves over a grate. I stumbled over to them, tripping over several prone figures who must have gone back to sleep. I waited for the crowd to clear up with my legs crossed, getting an eyeful of their nudity. When they finally went away, I swallowed my pride and dropped my panties, squatting over the grate. I caught one unsavory looking man smirking at my position, but most seemed to be minding their own business. My bladder relieved, I hastily covered myself and returned to the corner. We waited in there for what felt like weeks. A trough of some pellet-type food was delivered by the door guard at some point. It tasted terrible, but satisfied our stomachs. The same man that I caught eyeing me while I peed that first time tried to grope another woman, but was restrained and knocked unconscious by other prisoners. The days became monotonously miserable. Finally, our door opened and the reptilian guard beckoned us out of the room. We were chained together by our collars, and marched in a single-file line out of our former prison. Stepping out into the world, I was shocked by how different it had become. The skies were gray, there was no discernible greenery, and I spotted fires in the distance. A crude airport of sorts had been set up, housing hundreds of different ships. Directly ahead of us was some sort of marketplace. The other slaves had all been assembled there. Our line was escorted to the front of the crowd. A large screen had been set in the wall of the prison building. After ensuring that all were present, the guards called out a phrase in their alien languages. A humming noise became noticeable, and I turned my head to find its source. A large, slug-like creature was perched upon a slowly approaching floating dias. It had slimy, rough skin and a wide-set mouth. Against its bulk lay a scantily clad blue female alien, her collar connected to a leash that the creature grasped. The creature began to stroke her bare shoulder, and she flinched, closing her eyes. The dias bore one additional passenger: a shiny (though somewhat slimy) humanoid droid. The dias arrived at a stop in front of the human assembly. The slug creature let out a disgusting cough, spewing slime upon his unfortunate slave, then began to speak in its alien tongue. Murmurs of disgust, anger, and confusion broke out in the crowd, but then the shiny droid began to translate. “Greetings, denizens of Earth. I am Gorna the Hutt, a representative of the Hutt clan. As you may have deduced, you are now slaves to my people, and your planet is ours.” At this, people grew further upset. One foolish man yelled out,”Get off our planet, ET!” The Hutt turned and glared at him. He yelled out a Huttese command, and guards disconnected him from the slave line and brought him forward. One put a laser gun to his head and fired, blowing a hole in it. His body toppled over. The Hutt continued his speech. “There is no hope of rebellion. Try to fight us, and you only kill yourself - or worse. We are your conquerors, and your sole role in life now is to serve your masters. There is no use in pretending otherwise.” The screen behind the Hutt comes to life. It displays videos of various world leaders being executed, brutally. People run from alien invaders of different species, only to be mowed down mercilessly in laser fire. Celebrities and idols are shown to be enslaved, serving Hutts. Collared fitness stars grunt as they drag large metal spaceship parts behind them. Skimpily-dressed models and actresses pole dance in front of a Hutt, while the Hutt strokes the shoulder of a nude girl sucking off his tail. To see these people, driven from the top of society to such demeaning positions, is truly disheartening. The recordings end. The Hutt speaks again. “Tomorrow, you will be sold off to perform all manner of duties for the rest of your life. Some of you may stay here, on Earth; others will be sent to more of our colonies. Comply, and you have nothing to fear but servitude. That is all.” As the droid finished translating his message, the Hutt pulled the now-slimy slave girl to his mouth. He began to lick his own mucus off of her, only adding to her sliminess in doing so. As the dias began to float away, I caught a glimpse of him removing the top of her outfit, continuing to lick over her bare breasts. Was this to be my life? Once proud peoples of Earth, we, now Huttese slaves, were marched back into our prisons, subdued. We are again woken by the wail of the buzzer. Dreading what is inevitably to come, we wish each other luck in our new lives as pleasure slaves, for we will be split up by our buyers. The guard comes into the room and chains us together. We are marched out into the market, and lined up with the rest of the pleasure slaves. I’m at the very end of the line. An inspector, some sort of green piglike alien arrived on some fast-moving motorcycle-type vehicle. and starts at my end of the line. “No clothes! Naked, for maximum view of goods.” he grunts, ripping off my bra violently. Taken aback, I meekly remove my panties, and try to cover my crotch and nipples. He grins at my efforts, and secures my hands behind my back so that my front is entirely bare. I try to resist, but am shocked into submission. The other semi-clad slaves take the hint and strip. The piglike creature moves down the line, binding everyone’s hands. At last, all are approved. All manner of diverse aliens emerge from nearby buildings and parked vehicles at the airport. Some move directly for our section, the pleasure slaves, while others head towards the labor slaves. A small line of celebrities, models, and public figures quickly gain an audience and are competitively bargained for. Fortunately, most of the crowd after our group is starting at the end of the line opposite to mine, so I’ll be among the last to be considered for purchase. After about an agonizing hour of anticipation, the first potential buyers arrive at me. They consist of two of the same reptilian species that guarded my cell (which I’ve learned are called Trandoshans), a tall, furry humanoid, and a human, strangely enough. All seem quite interested in what they’re seeing. My cheeks burn as they eye me up, their eyes lingering on my intimate areas. “Turn around,” the human orders, a scruffy-looking older man. I glare at him and reluctantly comply. The human whistles, furthering my humiliation. “Now bend over,” he demands. I look back at him and begin a sharp retort, but he steps on a button in front of me and shocks me silent, and I fulfill his request. The man steps forward, and strokes my bare rear for a few moments, before delivering a mighty slap to it, sending me stumbling forward. The other viewers chuckle. He says,”Now, back up with you. Face me.” I get back up, my eyes tearing up from the sting of his slap. He fondles one of my nipples, hardening it, and tests the firmness of my breasts, bouncing and pinching them. Every inch of me is yearning to fight back, but the inevitable shock keeps me at bay. The man’s exploring fingers travel down to my waist, and converge at a point not too far below, probing. I gasp at the unfortunately pleasing sensation of his fingers’ entrance into me, and instinctively step away. He merely laughs and zaps me again, but something catches his eye as he steps on the shock trigger. “Hello, what have we here?” he exclaims as he reaches down to collect my cast aside panties. Holding them up to his face and inhaling deeply, he asks,”Are these yours?” I don’t respond, hanging my head. Lowering my precious clothing from his face, he steps forward, and pulls me to him by my bottom. “I asked you a question, slave, so you’d better respond. These yours, or not?” he demands rather angrily. I meekly nod my head, and he grins, pinching my bottom. “Good, good. Glad to know they had such a pretty owner.” He winks and tucks them away in his pocket, sure to put them to use at some point. “You good at cooking, or serving? Ya know, waitressing?” he asks. I nod and quietly say,”I worked as a waitress in college.” The man nods, scratching his beard and grinning. “You know, I like you. Got a hot body, and the skills I have in mind” He calls out to a nearby attendant. “I’ll take this one and those four others that I already reserved.” The toadlike attendant collects credits from my buyer and disconnects my collar from the line. Attaching it to a leash, he leads me to a rack at which four other girls are chained. I sit down next to them and begin to weep. We all lean together for comfort. Apparently, our new owner’s name is Dak Runger, and he plans to open a bar of sorts up north. We’re to be his waitress staff. Runger buys another three girls and some labor slaves, making our rack rather cramped. At last, he finishes his rounds, and gives the attendant a signal. One by one, the attendant injects us with something. Within seconds, we all fall asleep. Log 3: I awake. Something is being held beneath my nose. Opening my eyes, I look down to find Runger holding a cup of some foul-smelling liquid below my face. “Wakey wakey, bitch,” he sneers. “Been a while, eh?” He reaches up to caress my face, and I attempt to get away, only - I can’t. I realize that my collar has been chained up directly against a wall. Looking around, I find myself in a clean, metal-walled room with my fellow slaves in a similar predicament. Nearly all are awake, and watching me. “Come on, now. Don’t be shy.” Runger lunges his face forwards and slops an intense smooch on my mouth, while his hand grasps my rear, which is, for some reason, covered by a diaper. I squirm under his embrace, until finally he breaks loose. “Tsk, tsk,” he clucks, shaking his head. He presses his finger to a remote, and I feel the shock of my collar again. “Let’s try this again, shall we?” This time, he sucks hard on one of my exposed nipples while groping my bottom, but I manage to keep myself from fighting him. “Muuuch better!” Runger exclaims, patting my bottom as he withdraws his hand. I bite my tongue. “By the way, I’ve still got these! Lovely, they are.” From his jacket pocket, Runger pulls the same pair of panties that I was forced to remove on the day of my purchase. Once clean and white, they now look stained and stiff, probably at the touch of his seed. He takes the panties and drapes them over my immobile head in such a way that the crotch region, the stiffest and most stained area, is position directly over my nose and mouth, yet I can still see through the leg holes. The pungent scent of his semen wafts up my nostrils, and I am incapable of doing anything about it. Runger revives the remaining two girls, treating them similarly, and steps into the center of the room. “Now, I know you’re all scared and uncomfortable, but there’s no need for that. Here, we’re all a happy family. Listen to Daddy, and you won’t get punished.” He looks at us all sternly. “You’ve been asleep for a while - a couple of months, actually.” I gasp as his words sink in. Runger turns to face me, narrows his eyes, and continues. “I understand that you’re all probably hungry. Food will be provided shortly. In the meantime, you may also feel the need to relieve yourself - well, you’re wearing those diapers for a reason.” I realize that he’s right, but decide to hold it in until he leaves. Runger scratches his beard, thinking. He then exits the room, saying,”Aaand that’s it! Be back soon, ladies.” The mechanical door slams shut behind him. Sobbing, we ineffectively struggle against our collars. We’ve arrived in Hell. Runger returns about an hour later, pushing a vat of some murky substance. “Lunchtime, ladies!” he announces cheerfully. He holds what seems to be a hose connected to the vat up to a slave’s mouth, and I realize it’s supposed to be a straw. The end is disturbingly phallic. The poor woman catches on as well, and hesitantly begins to suck on the end. Her face tells me that it tastes horrible, but we’re all famished. Runger moves around the room, arriving at me and lifts my stained panties off of my head. The liquid is indeed disgusting - I don’t want to know the ingredients. Once ‘lunch’ is done, Runger removes a girl’s diaper, which is full with her excrement. “My, my. You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” he cackles perversely as he wipes her nether regions clean, perhaps being a bit unusually zealously. I’m feeling sick as he reaches me. He gives me that evil grin of his, and undoes the diaper. Runger’s gloved hands cleanse my intimate areas, lingering longer than they should. I groan in protest and reluctant pleasure, but he merely laughs. Once that line of business is done, Runger again moves to the middle of the room. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here, right? Well, you are fortunate enough to be part of the staff of my fine new establishment, Dak’s Pub! You lot are the waitress crew, as you may have deduced. Your job is to serve and please our respectable customers, and look pretty while at it. Got that?” We all nod our heads. “Good. Now, the grand opening is this evening, and I want you all at your finest.” He untethers us from the wall and into a line, then leads us down a similarly industrial, simple hall. We enter a room lined with all manner of lingerie and scandalous outfits. “Now, here’s where the fun is.” Runger says gleefully, clapping his hands.He picks out an outfit for each of us. I receive a semi-transparent pink lace bra, a matching thong, and a garter belt with a thin veil of fabric hanging down from the front, providing additional coverage. It may not be much, but it’s preferable to utter nudity. Some other girls are not so lucky, receiving even skimpier costumes - Runger even just left one nude. He brings us back to our cell, but doesn’t secure us to the walls again. He locks us in the room, leaving us to change into our outfits. My lingerie is too tight, but I’ll take it over just my birthday suit. I sit in a corner, as I’ve found myself doing recently, pondering how I got here. I had a life before the Hutts invaded. I’d just gotten out of college, was engaged to my boyfriend, Todd, and best but worst of all - I’d been happy. These aliens took all of that away from me. Todd enlisted when the resistance force was announced, and presumably died in battle. My parents were probably executed, for they weren’t of much value in their old age. And now, here I am, soon to be a whore waitress for alien customers. I wipe away my tears, and try to fall asleep. The slam of the door wakes me up. The other girls and I rise slowly as Runger moves around inspecting our outfits. He eyes me approvingly, then tucks in the back of my thong more for good measure. After finishing up, he chains everyone back up to their posts on the wall - except for me, who he chains to a link in the ceiling. Pulling up a chair from the corner, Runger sits himself directly in front of me. “Ladies, I want you all to be able to tolerate whatever ‘wishes’ the customers might have for you. A smoking hot bunch like the lot of you, well - you can’t blame them for wanting to have their way with you. Now, Jennifer here will demonstrate what a good serving girl should behave like - right, Jennifer?” He prods my stomach, and I meekly nod my head. “Good girl. So, you’ve just been called up to my table and delivered me a drink. I think, damn, this girl is hot, so I ask you to stay for a while. Now remember, you have to do whatever I say, unless it’s threatening to your life or the welfare of my bar. So Jennifer, turn around.” I comply. Behind me, I hear the worrisome sound of Runger unzipping his pants. A rhythmic slapping sound tells me that he’s jerking off. “Back around, Jennifer. The bra - take it off.” Again, I quietly fulfill his request and turn to face him. His dick is in fact out and in his hands. I bare my breasts, and he reaches out with his sweaty fingers to caress and squeeze them. Looking around, I see the other girls wincing at my predicament. Runger’s hands slide down my hips and pull down my thong. Fingers tickle my sensitive lips, and I feel a disgusting wave of arousal. He pulls his fingers out after about a minute of their thrusting and lowers me to a kneeling position before him, his hardened cock directly before my face. Runger takes it and wipes its tip along my face, jerking off while doing so. I whimper in disgust and fear, and he merely laughs. Finally, he reaches his climax and shoves it into my mouth, sending his slimy warm load down my throat. I choke on his fluids and try to cough them up, writhing on the floor. My now-satisfied master reaches down and wipes off his shaft in my hair. “And that, ladies, is how you do it. Well done, slut. Extra rations this evening for you,” says Runger, prodding my bare form with his foot. “Now, go and clean yourself. The showers are over there. I crawl to the shower room, and turn the faucet. Ice cold water runs over my pale skin, cleaning my face of Runger’s filth. My tears mingle with the draining water. The next day, we are rudely awoken yet again. Runger goes around to inspect everyone, prodding here and there. He seems relatively satisfied with everyone. However, he decides that we should receive another ‘lesson’ in proper pleasure slave behavior - really just an excuse to use us. He pulls out another girl, a young pale blonde wearing light blue lingerie. She whimpers as he grabs her by the collar and has her stand before him. Violently, he undoes and removes her bra, and grabs her breasts. She tries to back away, but Runger delivers a shock to her collar that stops her in her tracks. He beckons for her to return, growling,”To my lap where you belong, slut!” She slowly treads back to him and kneels, weeping, as he gropes her bare breasts. Runger then unbuckles his pants and tells her to remove her panties. The girl is weeping by now, shaking her head. He shocks her again and she reluctantly complies. Runger pulls out his erect member and beckons for her to sit on it. Shaking, the poor girl moves towards him, before he seizes her and places her pussy upon his cock. Seizing her breasts, Runger thrusts upwards into her. Chained to my post at the wall, I can do nothing but scream for him to stop as he rapes the poor girl. Finally, he climaxes, and releases her. The girl sinks to the floor, quivering, twitching. Tucking his junk back into his pants, Runger acts nonchalant as though nothing has just transpired. He says,“Right, now onto business. Today you begin your job, and I want you at your finest! Just bring dishes and drinks to their correlated tables, and you’re fine. If the customers want to have their way with you, you’d better let them.” Runger gives us a stern glance. “Now, follow me.” We are led down the hall and into the actual bar. It’s currently empty of customers, but filled with bright lights and neon lighting, some of which spells out words in an alien language. Above the bar is a metal grid, with several cables hanging down from it. It is to them that we are led. Runger grabs a girl and connects her collar to the cable, and its purpose is suddenly clear. “Now, ladies, don’t get any ideas about running off. In the bar, you can’t leave. You’re free to walk around on your own, but customers can ‘call’ you, pulling your cable towards their table. Got that?” He doesn’t wait for a response, and hooks me up next. Soon, we’re all ready. Runger presses a button, and I feel my neck pulled towards behind the counter. Checking some sort of clock, he moves towards the large front doors and throws them open. Guests, some human but most alien, pour in. There are about 45 total. They make their way to tables, and begin placing orders via a holographic menu. Showtime. I receive my first order after about 5 minutes, a single keg of some purple beverage. Carefully making my way through the tables, I arrive at the customer, a goatlike humanoid. He snatches it from me, sets it down, and pulls me toward him by my leash. The creature attempts to sit me down on his lap, which I refuse at first. He presses a button set into the table, and I feel that familiar painful shock. Shit. I comply, and endure this position for several minutes. The goat-man sloshes some of his drink onto my breasts ‘accidentally,’ and tries to lick them off, much to my distaste. Underneath my exposed rear, I feel a lump hardening. Fortunately, before the situation escalates, my collar is pulled back towards the counter for another order. I receive another order, this time several drinks, and maneuver my way to this table. I see that my customers are human this time, and actually look to be Earth natives. These guys must be among the lucky bastards that escaped servitude by betraying their friends, family. “Right on the table, babe,” one man orders, grinning. I set the tray down, and turn to leave. Another man catches me by the arm. “Not so fast. C’mere.” I try to make my mind blank as he pulls me closer, turns me around. “That is quite the ass you’ve got there. Nice tits, too.” He slides several fingers up into my rear cheeks - not enough to touch anything important, but still a demeaning gesture. Laughing at how docile I am acting, he passes me over to one of his friends. The guy moves to unclasp my bra, but I slap his hands away and get up. The men groan, but I’m able to walk away - as I suspected, they don’t know about the shock button. Getting back to the bar, I face an embarrassing realization - I have to pee. I manage to find Runger in the crowd chatting with his buddies, and quietly explain the situation. He just laughs, and points to a bowl in the corner of the room. My eyes widen, and I glare at him. He simply shoos me away, and continues talking. Bashful, I head to the corner. I drop the thong and am quick about it, but some jeering nearby patrons still get an eyeful. Cheeks burning but bladder relieved, I pull it back up and return to the bar amidst numerous chuckles at my expense. Still emotionally stinging from that last incident, I tremble as I go to deliver another order. Stumbling, I take a tray and walk to its table, a group of dirty blue aliens with red eyes. As I set out the glasses, the oldest of the lot smacks me in my rear, sending me and the remaining glasses forward. They smash into the table loudly, splashing the beverage over the customers. The man who initiated my fall simply laughs, while the rest look at me in outrage. The general din of the bar has died down as people turn to look at my predicament. One of the victims of the splash reaches into a pocket and pulls out some sort of knife, poising it in my direction. I begin to back up, but am halted by the grasping hands of Dak Runger. “Now, now, gentlemen,” he says. “Don’t you go harming my faculty.” The knife-wielder retorts, “She spilled the drink that I paid for on me! She must pay.” Runger thinks for a moment, before saying, “rest assured, she will be punished. Just not like that.” He pulls me out into the front of the now silent room. “Now, as I’m sure many of you observed, Miss Jennifer here had a mishap moments ago, rightly angering several of our customers.” The blue aliens nod angrily from the corner. “So, as punishment, I’ll be holding a ‘demo’ of her worth, so you see why I’m keeping her alive.” As he says this, two large poles rise from the floor. He shackles my wrists and ankles to them, so that I am suspended, immobile, above the floor. Runger then comes up behind me, and unclasps my bra, letting it fall to the floor. My panties follow suit. “For the next hour, anyone may step up and do almost whatever they wish to naughty Jennifer here - but no harming her, please,” he says as he gropes one of my breasts. “Go on, then!” The blue aliens are the first in line. They all rush at me, but then Runger calls out “One at a time!” and they slow down. The first one is the guy who slapped my ass in the first place. Seemingly not knowing what to do, he comes up behind me and uses my buttocks as a drum, yielding a rather painful, fleshy sounding beat. The crowd laughs. The next guy is more straightforward, pulling out his large blue cock and inserting it into my pussy. He rapes me, grinning in my face all the while. After he comes, he pulls his member out and has me lowered closer to the floor. He dries it off in my hair. Given my lowered position, the next guy takes the opportunity to tittyfuck me. I try to block it all out, to disregard the pain and humiliation of my situation. Shortly after, I just black out altogether. Several days later, I receive an unusually large order - it possesses a large quantity of food as well as the standard drink fare. There even seems to be a large bowl of some fragile creatures. I push the large cart to the designated location, and realize that I’m not serving just any table - this meal is for a Hutt guest. He licks his lips as a I approach, and I can’t tell if this is because of the food or me. I pull the food up to his front, and turn to leave - but, as I’ve come to expect, my customer wants more. He presses a button on his specially made chair, and my leash pulls me to him. I sense that I’m in for quite a nasty experience. The Hutt motions for me to strip, grunting. I sigh and start to comply, but the slug like creature then stops me. He calls out something in Huttese, and a protocol droid (as I’ve learned they’re called) hurries over. The Hutt says some more words in his booming language, and the droid translates, saying,”His Exaltedness Gunka the Hutt would like for you to dance as you strip - a striptease.” The creature looks at me expectantly. Shit. I took dance classes back in high school, but nothing like this. I improvise, and slowly, sensually move my body. First, I remove my bra, thrusting forward my bare breasts and kneading them, much to my displeasure. The growing audience cheers. Next comes the garter and veil, leaving me with just my tiny thong. I turn around, gyrating my hips, and then shrug that off slowly as well. I feel like a whore. Cheeks burning, I dance for a while longer, shaking my bared ass for all to see, before Gunka pulls me to him by my leash, almost choking me. His massive, rough tongue emerges from his gaping mouth and licks my torso, leaving it horrendously slimy. He then issues another command in Huttese. The droid translates. “Gunka would like you to feed him.” Groaning, I get up and move down to his tray, still entirely nude. The Hutt points to a gelatinous orange substance, which I scoop up in a bowl. Gingerly, I bring it to his open mouth, and pour it in. Gunka quickly swallows it and asks for more. I repeat this several more times, before I realize the small bowls are inefficient. I fill a larger bowl - almost a bucket - and bring it before him. Grinning, he grabs it from my hands and pulls me closer. Gunka then proceeds to pour the cold contents of the bowl over my naked body, making me cry out. He lifts me up to his mouth and licks the food off of me, his tongue circling my breasts and pussy. My skin is engulfed by his slime. Once this nightmare is over, he sets me down against his flabby stomach. My whole body aches and is covered with slime, and I lack the energy to get up. Gunka’s broken me. “His Exaltedness Gunka the Hutt would like to know your name, slave,” the protocol droid declares. I cough up some Hutt slime, then weakly declare,”Jennifer.” The Hutt repeats my name, then says some more Huttese. “Gunka was impressed by your dance. He would like to buy you and use you as a dancer in his new palace. Would you like that?” I vigorously shake my head. The Hutt chuckles. “Well, it was never your decision anyway.” Gunka then calls over Runger, and they seem to negotiate some sort of deal over me. I try to get up, but Gunka shocks me back down. Eventually, Runger nods, then walks up to me. “I’ll miss you, bitch,” he declares, slapping my rear one final time. I’m too weak to protest. Eventually, I black out. Log 4: I wake up from horrid nightmares to once again find myself restrained. This time, my body is elevated, with my legs and arms chained to a pole on either side. I’m still stark naked. I look around the room. It’s circular, and lined with skimpy outfits. Several thin poles are spaced throughout, seemingly intended for pole dancing. I struggle against my bonds, but can’t escape. I then notice something else - my collar is missing. After a few minutes, an alien woman enters the room. She has vibrant green skin and two dangling tentacles in place of hair, and wears only a skimpy brown corset. “Greetings, Jennifer. I am Sural, the harem mistress here,” she says, walking towards me. I nod my head in acknowledgement, and ask,”Can you let me down from here?” Sural ignores me, stepping closer. She runs her hands over my body, feeling my breasts and waist. I feel like a specimen being examined by a scientist. “Gunka approves of your skill, but feels that your body is. . . lacking in some areas. He’s requested that you undergo a few procedures - don’t worry, nothing massive. Just some minor enlargements here and there.” She caresses my bottom. I start to protest, but Sural injects my neck with something, and I pass out. I awake sometime later in the same position, only my body feels. . . different. I look down to find that my breasts are now firmer and slightly larger, and my bottom feels expanded as well. I sigh. My own body has been stolen from me, made into a sexual image to my owner’s preferences. Sural stands before me, cold as ever. “There. I’m sure Gunka will appreciate your enhancements. Now, you need a costume.” She walks along the rows of barely sufficient tops and bottoms, occasionally looking back at my figure. Sural tries a few things on, before settling on thin white panties, a semitransparent purple veil to hang in front of my panties, and two light metal pasties designed to mimic nipples. I have nearly nothing covering my rear. Lastly, she gives me a collar - this time, a leather one. “Gunka doesn’t like to shock his slaves,” she explains. “He prefers breaking them other ways.”Sural lets me down from my bonds, and leads me to one of the poles, attaching my leash to the top. “Dance,” she commands, sitting back. This time, I’m less desperate, and experiment. I sensually slide my hands under my veil, into my panties, feeling around. Pulling them back out, I sway my hips for a while, thinking of what to do next. I lean down and lick the top of my breast, up to the metal cover. I then remove the pasties. Turning around, I shake my hips, then begin to twerk, bending over. Now I slide off the veil, trace my figure slowly, and turn to the pole. I lick it, slowly bringing my tongue up its cold length, then turn and start humping it, inwardly horrified by the vulgarity of my movements. The panties are slid down my legs gradually. Eventually, I stop. Sural, nods, and says,”All right. You’re okay at it, but still need a lot of work.” She ditches her corset for a bikini, and begins to direct me. We train for hours. I learn the sort of movements that please the Hutt, how to prolong the dance, and even some basic lapdance moves. Trust me, I’m not thrilled by any of what I’m doing, but it might secure my survival. Sural brings me before Gunka. He seems far more interested in his personal slave, a poor, naked human girl, but nonetheless asks for a performance. I step up onto his shiny stage, and music begins to play. It’s slow at first. I sway to the rhythm, then begin to toy with the straps of my bra while doing so. Sural decided that it would be best to wear one at first, to elongate the dance. I slide my bra over my shoulders, and toss it aside. Now, I caress my breasts, kneading them slowly. My fingers trail down to my veil, pulling it aside to show the panties beneath. I untie the veil, and it joins the bra on the floor. I turn to the pole and swing around it once, then embrace it, licking it. My fingers then trace the outline of my pasties, before those are discarded as well. I leave the pole, and turn my back to Gunka. I sway my enlarged rear slowly before shaking it rapidly, twerking. My hands slide into my last remaining garment, feeling around. Slowly, my panties slide to the floor. I give the Hutt and his audience an eyeful, then return to the pole, and wrap my legs around it. Face reddening, I mimic having intercourse with the pole, grinding against it and moaning. Finally, the music stops, and I move to stand before Gunka. He looks pleased. The protocol droid translates for us. “You have done well, Sural. Have this girl perform again tomorrow.” Sural nods, and we return backstage as another stripper is led on. A couple of weeks pass, during which I am forced to perform all manner of abhorrent dances and tasks. Between the stripteases and pole dances, I began to have to perform lap dances for Gunka’s associates. One day, just after a performance, a friend of Gunka’s walked over to him and whispered something in his ear. I was notified by the protocol droid that the man wanted a lap dance. I was disgusted, but walked over anyways. This alien had mottled green skin and large, veinous eyes with horizontal pupils. Gritting my teeth, I sat down on his lap and began to grind. I was topless already, so he took it upon himself to suck upon my nipple, a truly disgusting sensation. I got up and pulled down my panties, and stuck my ass in his face, shaking it. He seemed to like it a lot, and tried licking that as well. After several minutes of dancing, I was directed to just sit still. The creature groped my rear for a while, but grew bored of that and moved his hands elsewhere. I was barely enduring the grasp of his hand upon my breast when I felt a thin finger slide into my pussy. Groaning, I moved to get up, but his grasp of the collar restrained me. His finger probed about, an alien in its own right, until I climaxed over his hand. This was among the most demeaning experiences of my early life here. Some weeks later, Gunka has his personal slave publicly executed, after she failed to bring him pleasure. Later that day, after a particularly intense performance of mine, the aroused Hutt had me brought to him. “Congratulations,” the protocol droid declared as I stood nude before Gunka. “His High Exaltedness Gunka the Hutt has selected you as his next personal slave. He thinks that you will make a fine replacement.” The Hutt is given my leash, and pulls me up towards his bulk. I know what is coming, and brace myself. Just as I anticipated, the Hutt makes a sudden move. One of his hands slams into my ass, sending the rest of me slamming into his chest. I can’t breathe. Holding me there, he inserts his fingers into the crevice between my rear cheeks. I wince as two of his thick fingers enter my pussy, and begin working it. Gunka releases some of the pressure, allowing me to surface for air from his slimy chest. His tongue slides forward into my mouth, and I’m suffocating again. The crowd jeers. My inevitable orgasm will be another victory for Gunka. Then, just when I’m nearing my climax, the Hutt removes his appendages from me. I gasp in relief, and he only laughs. Gunka seizes me again, this time holding me horizontally. As I gasp for air, his tail rams past all of my defenses, the thick tip entering my body. I cry out as I orgasm over his tail. He’s beaten me. The audience cheers at my defeat. The Hutt removes me from his tail and sets me down against his girth. Worn out, I pant for air as he strokes my shoulder. I can feel his slime on my back, as his juices ooze from my stinging pussy. He orders cleaners, and I am wiped dry by more of his scantily-clad girls. Once I’m clean, Gunka pulls me back to him. After more sitting and stroking, I settle down on his dias as far away from him as possible, and quickly nod off. Log 5: My breasts bounce against Gunka’s face, acquiring his slime, as my pussy is bombarded by his tail yet again. Before the entire crowd of his entourage, I am used as a sex toy by the foul Hutt. I only just woke up minutes ago, to find his tail already inside me. He kneads my ass as the tip of his tail continues to thrust. Much to my embarrassment, I climax, my fluids sliding down his tail. Gunka’s tail, which seems to function as the Hutt equivalent of a penis, orgasms just moments later, sending a rush of fluids into me. He goes rigid, relishing the feeling, then slowly lets me down. That afternoon, Gunka receives a human visitor, a trader. He’s middle aged, paunchy, and wears ill fitting armor. The man brings barrels full of spice from Tatooine. Gunka initially seems displeased with his price, but the man agrees to lower it one one condition: he points to me, declaring,”She gives me a blowjob.” Gunka laughs, and agrees. Credits and spice are exchanged, and I am shoved forward by my rear into the man’s arms. He is provided with a chair, and an audience begins to gather. The man lowers his pants and undergarments, revealing a sweaty, hairy member that seems to have several warts. It smells terrible as well. He looks at me expectantly, and I try to back up. The man grabs me by my hair and forces my screaming mouth onto his cock. It tastes terrible. I wince, and slowly begin to slide it in and out of my protesting mouth. The man pushes my head against it, and it goes deeper, almost reaching the back of my throat. A couple of excruciating minutes later, he orgasms, releasing his warm load into my throat. I cough as the sticky substance clears itself from my mouth. As the man chuckles, Gunka pulls me quickly back to his throne and grasps my breasts, seemingly reminding me of my true master. I choke, and he releases me. Some time later, I ask Gunka if I may wear clothing. After the protocol droid translates, Gunka laughs, and responds,”But of course. Anything for my little pet.” He sends out a message to numerous designers in the profession of slave clothing, telling them to bring their wares to his palace. The next night, there is a buzz of activity as several tradesmen bring in potential costumes. I am led and chained to a post in the middle of the room, and my arms and legs are restrained. I begin to see how this will work. Gunka plans to have the costumes tried out on me in public, for both his own discernment and the enjoyment of his entourage. Great. First up is a golden bikini set with twin pink veils on the front and rear. It squeezes my breasts, and I have no sort of underwear on beneath. Gunka seems to recognize it, and dismisses it. Amidst his dissatisfied words, I catch the name ‘Jabba.’ Next up is a complicated black strap system. It winds up from in between my butt cheeks, above my belly button, around my breasts, finally ending by narrowly covering my crotch. I feel ensnared by it. Gunka approves, but thinks it too difficult to remove for everyday use. He buys it anyway for formal occasions. After I am disentangled from the straps, an attendant adheres some sort of transparent hard plastic material around my hips and onto my nipples, in the shape of a rigid bra and panties. While it covers my intimate regions, it still leaves them exposed to view and pinches them. Again, Gunka approves and buys it. Finally, after nearly an hour of grueling tryouts, Gunka finds a set that he likes for everyday use - that is, if it can even be considered an outfit. The piece is nothing more than a leather strap that cups the bottom of my breasts but still leaves my nipples exposed and a metal belt that goes tightly around my waist, from which hangs a semitransparent veil down my front. My ass and intimate areas are left exposed. Gunka has me detached from the rack and yanks me back to him. “You look beautiful, my darling,” he purrs, caressing my breasts as I stand before him. Seemingly to inspect it in use, he instructs me to dance. I move out to the floor, only to be halted by two dancers. They carry some sort of pouring device, which they use to release the slimy contents of the container over my body. The women look at me, seemingly expecting me to begin my dance by rubbing the substance over my body. I pause, and ask,”What is this stuff?” They respond with the answer that I was hoping they wouldn’t - cum from Gunka’s audience. Sickened, I try to walk off the floor, but Gunka barks at me to begin. Shamefully, I begin to dance. I sensually rub the semen around my breasts, oiling them up. (To Be Continued)